


the woman in red

by wondaerlust



Category: Carol (2015), The Price of Salt - Patricia Highsmith
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, and sad, it's cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 04:18:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17175731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wondaerlust/pseuds/wondaerlust
Summary: she saw her in the coffee shop, and then in the bar, but then she walked in her gallery and took her breath away.





	the woman in red

**Author's Note:**

> i honestly have zero clue what this is. i just sat down two nights in a row and this came out of me. it didn't start as carol and therese story, just as story about two women in general but then i saw some similarities and decided it would be about them. not to mention that i had already named the husband richard before even deciding on that. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy it xx

He was funny and charming. And rich, so rich. 

I can’t remember if there was ever time where I truly felt something for him, but I stuck around. Through anything. Even though I never really felt much for him, I respected him enough to never go behind his back with another. The stability I had with him was all I needed. But you could imagine my shock when I found out he was seeing another woman behind my back. That changed it all. 

I never intended to fall in love. But she was just standing there waiting for coffee in her red coat and thigh high boots. 

I sat close enough to find out she liked her coffee black. And bitter. I must admit I kept coming back to this place every day at the same time, hoping to see her again. But she never shown up. 

It was only years later that I saw her again. Richard took me out for dinner with his business partner and there she was, sitting in the bar. She looked as if she was waiting for someone, but even if she was, that someone never shown up. 

Third time I saw her I was just about to close the gallery when she walked through that door. 

I never believed that these moments existed, but the first time we locked eyes, I knew she was the one. 

She walked across the room to me and, I swear, for a second I forgot how to breathe. 

The red dress she wore fit her perfectly, but it looked even better once it ended up thrown somewhere across the gallery. 

A lot happened that night, but then also nothing happened at all. After it was over I was convinced I’d never see her again. After all, I never even got her name. 

But she kept coming back, every Tuesday, at 9:59 exactly, she was there. She always seemed to wear red and she always stayed till 4 am to talk about art and what not. No matter how long into the night we talked, we never got around to talking about our personal lives, even if we did, she’d just change the subject to something else. I loved our little talks about anything and everything, but one night she just stopped coming. I would leave gallery open till 12am just hoping she’d come by, and at least say hi. 

Turns out she was in Paris, with her husband. Up until that point I didn’t even know she had one, not that it mattered to me at all. She brought me a bottle of perfume she made in a shop in Paris. She said it reminded her of me. I don’t think she planned on coming back to gallery after her return from Paris, but I think that the same thing, that didn’t allow me to think of anything else but her, has drawn her back to that place. 

“I always wanted to see Paris.” I told her one night, while we were laying on the ground naked, covered only with the white cloth I usually cover my pictures with. And honestly that’s what she was, a masterpiece, whose beauties I was yet to discover. 

Every night she would tell me a story about a different place in Europe she visited.

“I’ve been to Europe once, with Richard. He had a business trip and I tagged along. But he never took me to Europe again.” I told her, the night she was telling me stories from Prague. 

“Why?” She asked curiously with her hand tangled in my hair and our legs intertwined under yet another white cloth. 

“I think that’s when he started bringing his assistant with him. And you can’t bang your assistant when your wife is right there.” 

The more nights we spent together, the more we opened up, and from all that I realized we were both happy in marriages with cheating husbands because it gave us both stability and freedom to do whatever our hearts desired. And our hearts desired each other. 

It took us a few months of laying on the uncomfortable floor of my gallery to finally move our little date nights to a place she (most likely her husband) owned down town.  
The more time we were together, the faster time flew by and soon I would be staying the night in her arms. 

I don’t know exactly how it happened but our husbands ended up being business partners. I think they might’ve met at a party. But I remember how surprised we both were when our husbands took us out for dinner to celebrate their partnership. We didn’t tell them we knew each other and just went along with their introduction. 

After that, we created this, what our husbands thought, close friendship. But in fact It was just us getting closer and our relationship getting stronger. Our date nights stayed the same I just no longer had to hide from Richard where I was going and why I wasn’t coming home till the next day. 

Sometimes I think he knew what was going on but he just didn’t want to admit to himself that I’ve actually found someone else. 

But I was happy. Richard would invite them over for weekends and we would spend the day together. They would play golf, and the two of us would lay by the pool just talking. 

That’s where we planned our trip to Paris. She wanted me to see it because she knew how much I loved it. 

We got a room with the view of Eiffel Tower and we would just lay in bed all day drinking champagne and eating some really sweet chocolate donuts. At moments I couldn’t believe all this was happening, it was too good to be true. 

And it was, because as soon as we got back home, she disappeared. And no, it’s not what most people would think, she didn’t get kidnapped, she just didn’t want to be found. 

Part of me thinks it’s because of me. Maybe she couldn’t handle the pressure of hiding our relationship from her husband. Maybe she just wanted more. Maybe we both did. But neither of us were ready for that step.

Maybe some day we would’ve gotten divorces and moved in together. Just maybe. But I miss her. 

And it would be her, in a thousand cities, a thousand houses, in foreign lands where we would go together, in heaven and in hell. It would be her. Carol.


End file.
